The Crafter Complex is a series of buildings that contain craft halls and rooms for the crafters of New Atricis to work. There is a single dorm building for apprentices, while journeyman and masters live in second floor rooms in their respective crafts. Off to the side from the complex is the largest building, the Infirmary, where everyone in the Weyr receives Healer attention and desk workers keep track of who comes and goes at the entrance to the Infirmary.

Pahaliah was busy. Between getting situated in the complex, acquiring a new wardrobe, and gallivanting about with pearlriders to properly document all manner of plant- and wildlife, there were also the usual tasks of tidying, eating, and sleeping.

Sleeping, it seemed, was the one thing that the artist was willing to put off entirely.

Or, perhaps, the Harper had little need for it in the first place? It was hard to say. Regardless, Paha had found a good, common area in the complex to work, a place that got good sun and plenty of light otherwise. It was an early morning, just before most were truly up and moving. A small easel had been set up in that shared space and the Harper was busy translating an assortment of sketches and written notes into a proper series of studies.

Paint had not yet been applied to a palette, however; no, this part of the process was merely getting ideas onto stretched canvas, to ultimately produce a work that would be suitable to send North for further study. At least, that was the hope. There would be plenty of other material to compile - and, indeed, most of that material would be transferred into a book format for ease of study and research - but the artist was not about to let this particular subject go without a proper treatment.

From a distance, however, it was impossible to tell precisely what was in the process of being created.

All one might well see of the Harper is a long, black braid of hair and loose-fitting clothes that have been splashed and stained with ink and paint over the turns. Paha's sleeves are tied up just above the elbow, trailing ribbons fluttering away while the artist worked.

Morning was not Strimian's favorite time of day. Her brain was not ready yet for the bright sunlight, and she was not particularly social before her first klah of the day. As a result, she managed not to notice the easel set up just off her normal daily route the first time she passed it. She made it to the dining hall, drank a full mug of klah, and came back with another, heading to her office.

The easel was not directly in her path, but it was close, and she managed to notice the black braid as she got closer to her destination. She blinked, taking another sip from her mug as she considered the back, dark hair, and easel in front of her. It was a mark of how slow her brain was at this time of day that she took the time for that sip to really think about the fact that there was a person painting near her office.

It was better than near the classroom. Weyrbrats would probably not cause an enormous amount of mischief on purpose, but they could still cause trouble by accident, running past him without paying enough attention, knocking things over.

Staying near the offices made more sense.

Another sip, and Strimian realized she didn't know this artist's name. She recognized the harper knots, but otherwise?

The painter's identity was a mystery, and Strimian moved a few feet down, leaning against the wall with her half-full mug of klah to get a better look at the artist's face. Still no recognition.

"Good morning," she said, after another sip of klah. "I suppose the horrible bright light that woke me up is good for painting?"

The place was carefully chosen indeed - but perhaps not carefully enough.

While it was safe from the risk of Weyrbrats attacking, there was always the greater risk of simply being in the way.

Pahaliah finally set to the task at hand properly after putting the final touches onto the sketch. Paint was applied to the palette, the brushes readied, and the first caress of color streaked across the canvas. The artist's expression was a thing of utter focus, downright grim in its intensity.

The colors were bold and green, attached to a framework that suggested a dragon was in the making.

It took some moments before the Harper realized that anyone was watching and, by then, the woman was speaking.

"Good morning," she said, after another sip of klah. "I suppose the horrible bright light that woke me up is good for painting?"

"The sun is- ah! The most perfect light to paint under," Paha replied. The artist's voice is a curious and cultured thing, smooth like spun silk. Practically a purr. "All the colors fall, just so, and there is no questioning how something should look."

The Harper stepped back slightly, palette in one hand, brush in the other. A shallow bow was offered, a graceful maneuver that ensured nothing was touched by paint.

"I do hope I'm not in the way. If so, I can always move- there, perhaps. Or there." The non-painted end of the brush is pointed at two locations, the artist regarding the woman and her klah with slightly raised brows and lips parted just so in wordless anticipation of her response.

Well, whoever the painter was, they were quite lost in thought, or rather in paint. She supposed she could get the same way, when focused on tracking down a historical reference or memorizing a new song. More than one affair had ended abruptly when Strimian lost track of a conversation and was accused of not caring enough to pay attention. (Given how easily she recovered from such endings most of the time, that might have been a fair accusation.)

"The sun is- ah! The most perfect light to paint under," Paha replied. The artist's voice is a curious and cultured thing, smooth like spun silk. Practically a purr. "All the colors fall, just so, and there is no questioning how something should look."

Well, if she wasn't capable of enjoying bright light so early in the morning, she could at least enjoy an appealing voice. "You do make it sound so nice," she murmured. "I prefer winter sunrises to summer, though." She took another sip of klah.

The bow was charming, and Strimian found the artist's expression even more so. Well, if she had to be awake and alert this morning, at least she had a nice view. "You aren't in the way," she said, amused. "At least not to anyone awake enough to look where they are going." He wasn't blocking her door or any paths, after all. If someone had to step half a step to the side, it wasn't a meaningful inconvenience at all. "If this is the best light for you, please keep painting here. I'm sure your - work - will be nicer to see than the sunrise anyway." While Strimian had no talent for the visual arts she did have an appreciation for them, and for asthetics in general. She took another long sip from her mug, and continued leaning on the wall. She wouldn't be taking the mug into her office while there was still klah in it after all, as she didn't want to spill it on her records.

"You do make it sound so nice," she murmured. "I prefer winter sunrises to summer, though."

Pahaliah smiled, the expression a touch tilted with amusement. "Remind me another time and I would be happy to show you my collection of sunrises from the Reaches." The brush continued to work, blocking out great portions of base color. The dragon was taking shape, if slowly; but the shapes were refined and the coloration was destined to be quite striking indeed.

"Light, to an artist, is both a great ally and a terrible enemy. Lamps and glows and torchlight are poor substitutes for the sun's clarity and brilliance. But, we make due when we must." The tip of Pah's tongue snaked out, wetting plush lips in a thoughtful way.

"You aren't in the way," she said, amused. "At least not to anyone awake enough to look where they are going."

"If this is the best light for you, please keep painting here. I'm sure your - work - will be nicer to see than the sunrise anyway."

"You flatter me!" The artist laughed softly, the brush momentarily being dipped into a cleansing solution lest it meet the canvas in an unwanted way. "It is one of the many greens that take residence here. I was dispatched to produce a bestiary of sorts, including all of the creatures of the South. The dragons here, for all that they're mostly the same as the North, still seem to have... peculiarities, I suppose."

Pahaliah stopped abruptly, fingers rising in a frenzied flutter in an attempt to capture any stray words. Lips caught behind a cage of digits, the artist had the good sense to get pink around the edges. Embarrassed? Perhaps.

"But, ah! Listen to me ramble. Tell me, what are your favorite sights here or elsewhere? What makes your heart flutter with life and passion?"

She had known when saying it that the painter would assume she had an aesthetic preference for a certain kind of sunrise. She was just happier when the sun rose late. She still had to be up at the same time, but it was easier on her for some reason when she had time to slowly adjust as the light increased gradually throughout her morning.

Strimian actually couldn't see what the artist was working on, she was facing the wrong direction. But she saw the tongue slip out, moisten a lip, and she smiled a little. There was more than one kind of art.

"I'm not flattering you," she disagreed, as he fiddled around with his brush. So he was painting a bestiary of the southern continent? That would keep him here quite a while. "I suppose I haven't looked at the dragons closely enough to recognize the differences in the standard colors. We do have more of the colors that developed recently, though, as well as a wide variety of uniquely colored dragons." She thought about that, some of the unique colors were quite lovely. She would have to make certain the artist got a good look at the almost-pewter weyrling that...should be due to graduate soon?4

"I imagine you'll need to paint day whers and pearls, too," she added, before something else occurred to her. "And the variety of indigenous flitters and other lizards. I have one of the basilisks myself," and she smiled fondly, thinking of her rather protective pet, even if she did seem more focused on protecting Strimian's quarters than Strimian herself.

And, what sights inspired her? That was an odd thought. She wasn't inspired so much by sights as by sounds although. . . "I enjoy watching the dancing at gathers. And dancing myself, too, but there are people who dance as a performance here in the southern continent. I suppose it would be difficult to paint the dance itself, but you could probably paint some of their more extravagant costumes." Yes, that was something he should see, even if it didn't quite belong in a bestiary. "I assume you will be attending the hatching, maybe see some unique colored dragons as they first break shell?" The clutch currently on the sands was from a zultanite, so there were likely to be fewer of the old standard colors than in gold clutches, if she remembered correctly.

Then at his question she looked down at her almost empty mug. She supposed she could use another. "I brought it up from the dining hall," she answered, which was probably obvious enough, "has someone shown you where it is?" she continued. She didn't know how long he had been at the Weyr so far, but surely that was one of the first places everyone saw.

Paha gave the brush a swirl in the cleaning solution, then pulled it out to dry it off on a towel set aside for that purpose. Another brush was taken and applied to the paints on the palette. The artist set to work on another section of the painting, leaving the first layer to dry for now. The Harper's head dipped in a shallow nod while listening to the other Harper speak.

"I suppose I haven't looked at the dragons closely enough to recognize the differences in the standard colors. We do have more of the colors that developed recently, though, as well as a wide variety of uniquely colored dragons."

"Perhaps it's just my bias," Pahali mused. "But they seem brighter. More vibrant. And, certainly, some are quite unique indeed, I've heard." The artist chuckled softly. "The North seems intent on clinging to certain... traditions. But change is coming, no?"

"I imagine you'll need to paint day whers and pearls, too," she added, before something else occurred to her. "And the variety of indigenous flitters and other lizards. I have one of the basilisks myself."

The artist considered, the brush held just shy of touching the canvas. "Oh, certainly. I have arrangements to meet with a pearlrider, though I should see about meeting with the wherhandlers." A sidelong look was flicked her way at that last, however, exquisitely shaped eyebrows lifting. "Is that so? Would you mind if I did some studies of your basilisk?"

The work continued, the question asked and ultimately answered:

"I enjoy watching the dancing at gathers. And dancing myself, too, but there are people who dance as a performance here in the southern continent. I suppose it would be difficult to paint the dance itself, but you could probably paint some of their more extravagant costumes."

"Yes, yes, that would be delightful," the Harper replied, lowering the paint brush and turning to more properly regard the other Harper. "Yes, any glimpse of life here would be lovely, even if it's not properly part of the bestiary. To the North, everyone down here is such a mystery. Exotic and strange. I want to show them that things are not so strange; just different."

"I assume you will be attending the hatching, maybe see some unique colored dragons as they first break shell?"

Another series of brush strokes followed. Pahaliah's head dipped into a slow nod. "Of course. I am due to paint the eggs themselves, as well. In case some clue of their nature might be discerned, of course." Still, the artist's smile was a slow one, knowing and wry all at once. The odds of some rogue Harper figuring out the secret of shells and hatchlings? Surely the artist knew better. And yet, it was a fine fantasy. Still, Pahaliah winked at her and took a partial step back from the easel.

"I brought it up from the dining hall," she answered, which was probably obvious enough, "has someone shown you where it is?"

The more pressing matter was answered in due course and the second brush, like the first, was cleaned. "I do, yes, but the klah there didn't seem to be... palatable. I had suspected you knew where a special supply had been kept or-" a hand lifted, twisting in the air in a vague, birdlike fluttering. "Something like that. Perhaps I judged it too harshly before, mm?"

Strimian smiled wryly at the idea of painting the eggs to see if their markings could be used to make predictions. That was an OLD idea, and some clutches were vibrantly marked, while others were fairly mundane looking. She suspected it had more to do with the clutching queen's diet than anything else, but she certainly hadn't conducted any sort of study.

That would be difficult anyway, following an egg-heavy queen around to keep track of her meals. Probably dangerous, too. It would only be reasonable for the rider herself, and even then, it was unlikely the rider would be willing to strictly control what her dragon ate for the sake of an experiment.

His comment about the bad klah he'd had earlier, though. "Not a special supply, just better timing," she murmured. "There is ALWAYS klah, but its useful to know exactly when they put out new pots. If you go too early you get the dregs of what they were making for the wherhandlers." That didn't happen to her very often, and was usually associated with her staying up into the wee hours for a wher hatching. Otherwise, she spent the dark hours in bed, because she was sane.

She had also been too late, of course, and that was usually a result of showing up after the weyrlings had made their groggy way through the dining hall while their dragons were still prone to late night feedings.

It certainly wasn't too late yet, though, and she took her last sip before giving Pahaliah a warm look. "There should still be some fairly fresh out, though I don't know how long it will last once the weyrlings finish with their morning tasks."

"Not a special supply, just better timing," she murmured. "There is ALWAYS klah, but its useful to know exactly when they put out new pots. If you go too early you get the dregs of what they were making for the wherhandlers."

Pahaliah's lips pursed in thought. A glance was given to the painting, still fresh and wet and wholly incomplete. When the other Harper spoke again, Paha nodded a slow, thoughtful sort of nod.

"There should still be some fairly fresh out, though I don't know how long it will last once the weyrlings finish with their morning tasks."

"In that case," the artist said, finally stepping away from the easel, "perhaps we ought to go, mm? Together - to put up a united front against any weyrlings that think they can come swooping in to steal all of the klah." Paha's smile was wide and impish, coupled with a wink. The artist even went so far as to gallantly extend an arm, lest Strimian desire to take it - or not. There was no apparent expectation of it, at least; it was just one of those things, offered as a matter of course.

"Also," Pahali added, "that paint ought to dry before another layer is added and what better way to spend that time than accompanying a fellow Harper to get klah and, perhaps, something to nibble on?"